


Someone You Loved

by FlowersOnMyMind



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Clint & Will are the same person, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint isn't deaf in this one, F/M, Heist, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Panic Attacks, Protective Ethan Hunt, Protective Natasha Romanov, Stephen King References, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Therapy, Violence, code names, estasblished winterhawk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowersOnMyMind/pseuds/FlowersOnMyMind
Summary: Anger rises in Clint. "I know you idolize Steve, Bucky," he wrenches his shoulder out of his grasp, "but believe it or not, he doesn't know everything! He's not a Saint!" He shouts looking at Steve bitterly.Steve sighs, angrily. "You're suspended from any Avenger duty until further notice!"OrClint has a falling out with the Avengers and finds comfort in another team and tries to heal.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Benji Dunn, Clint Barton & Ethan Hunt, Clint Barton & Jane Carter, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 62
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~This takes place in an AU where a year after the Avengers 2012, Steve and Sam find, fight, and then bring Bucky home. Clint is not deaf in this. Sorry! But I'm basing this off of MCU Clint because Jeremy Renner plays Clint in the MCU and William Brandt in the MI movies. Title is from Lewis Capaldi's Song _Someone You Loved_. My betas are the Justnerdystuffs and TheashO.~

Feather-light touches on his lower back are what wakes Clint up. Only a little bit. He doesn't dare open his eyes and buries his face further into his pillow with a small groan. He hears a deep, rough chuckle from somewhere next to him, followed by more touches, this time further up his back. And then lips on his neck. This, he leans into. The smell of sandalwood and gunpowder invade his nose and he inhales deeply.

Another chuckle. 

Clint feels the vibrations and groans again, wanting more lips. 

"Are you going to wake up or not?" 

"Depends," Clint mumbles into his pillows. 

"On what?" The archer can hear the amusement in the other's voice. 

"Depends on whether what you plan on doing with those lips."

"Wake up and find out." 

Clint manages to pry his eyes open and blinks a few times, blinking away all remains of sleep. With sharp inhale through his nose he rolls over to finally look into the eyes of Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky in the morning is one of his favorite things to see. He's laid on his side, leaned on his elbow, the side of his head in hand, hair down, cheeks and chin scruffy. And Clint wants to feel that roughness against his between thighs, his neck, everywhere. 

He bites his lip as his eyes wander lower, to Bucky's chest and abs, his arms, the sheets pooled low on his hips. He wants Bucky's strong hands on him, his arms around him. 

"If you're finished checking me out, Doll, let's get some lovemakin' in before Steve comes up here to collect me for our morning run." Clint wishes he could hate the lascivious smirk Bucky is giving him but he can't. 

Clint groans, loudly, tossing his head back into the pillow. "You woke me up at 6 A.M. to have sex?!" 

Bucky laughs and Clint would never admit to what the sound does to him. "Sure did." He moves over so that he's hovering above him, hands planted on the bed, on either side of Clint's head. 

"Fine," Clint whines exasperatedly, rolling his eyes, but his smile gives him away. 

Bucky is looking at Clint like he hung the moon and it's times like this Clint has no idea what do with that. Its times like these Clint can't believe that he and Bucky are here. 

When Steve and Sam all but dragged the Winter Soldier to the tower three years before, it took weeks before he even talked to anyone, but Steve. And somehow Clint broke down all of Bucky's walls. It started with Clint sitting on the counter in the communal floor, sipping a can of Coca-cola, commenting to a passing Bucky. "Oh shit, your arm is so cool!" Steve had scolded him, but Bucky tilted his head to one side, eyes getting smaller as he studied Clint.

And now, almost two years later, Clint finds himself in bed with Bucky on top of him, Bucky having woken up at 6 in the morning to have sex. 

"Sweetheart," Bucky says, grabbing Clint from his thoughts, "we don't have to if you just wanna go back to sleep." 

"Hell no!" Clint grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down, their bodies finally pressing together, their lips moving against each other in a desperate, hungry fashion. Bucky's lips frantically, wetly moved down from Clint's mouth to throat. He nips at Clint's clavicle, making the archer thrust his hardening member into Bucky's. He buries his fingers in Bucky's long hair, pulling at the roots lightly as Bucky's hands slide down to the waist band of his sweats. He gets them down to the middle of his ass, kissing down Clint's stomach and placing a bite to his hip bone.

And in the next moment, Clint wishes he had retired, bought a farm in the middle of nowhere, and lived with Bucky happily ever after. They break apart abruptly at the sound of the piercing alarm going through the tower. 

"I really hate Tony!" Clint shouts, ears ringing. No alarm should be this loud. He's going to go deaf if Tony doesn't tone it down. 

"What?!" Bucky shouts back as he scrambles off Clint, Clint following. 

Clint doesn't bother repeating, instead, he grabs Bucky's hand and tugs him from the room. 

The city is a mess. Explosions going off left and right, people screaming, debris, and robotic parts soaring through the air. 

"Have I mentioned how much I hate Doom bots?" Clint says as he lets another arrow fly, going through two of the small robots. And very poorly made bots at that. Dr. Doom was supposed to be a renowned scientist, right? 

How many times a month do they have to fight Doom and his bots? Is a week off too much to ask? Is a week where he can just watch tv, eat junk food, and have as much sex as he wants with his boyfriend too much to ask? 

_And dancing too,_ Clint thinks. _Bucky would like that._

"Many times, Legolas. But why don't you tell us again just in case one of us didn't hear." Tony's sardonic voice comes over the comms. 

"Shellhead, always the comedian."

"Oh really? This is coming from the guy who-"

"Can you two do this later?" Sam asks as he soars low and shoots down five bots in a spray of bullets. 

"Fine. I'll bother someone else. Hey, Bucky, I'm at 47. What about you?"

"48...49...50! Beat that, Sweetheart." 

Clint curses and launches three more arrows at lightning speed. "Looks like we're tied now!"

"Not for long!"

"Just like Rome?" Natasha asks gun in each hand as she aims and shoots down bots. They are back to back now and Clint wonders how he and Natasha end up in this position in every battle. 

"Just like Rome", he agrees. 

"One of these days you have got to tell us about these adventures of yours," Tony says. 

"I second that!" Thor bellows. "We shall have a night of sharing victorious battles!"

"Focus, guys!" Steve shouts. 

A high-pitch whine fills the air. 

"What is that, Tony?" Natasha asks but receives no answer. "Tony! Steve, anyone, come in!"

"Bucky? You there?!" Clint asks. 

"Whatever that noise is, it's messing with our comms." 

"Great, now how am I going to know what number Bucky is at?" 

Natasha rolls her eyes. "I'm sure your boyfriend will tell you after all of this is over." 

"Yeah, but its fun to hear him cuss when I score higher than him." 

10 agonizing minutes filled with that annoying whine and killing dozens of bots later, Natasha shouts, "Clint!" 

With one more arrow released into a bot, he looks over his shoulder at her. With a jerk of her head, he follows her field of vision. Down on the street, a little girl was crouched down behind a car flipped on its side, crying as she clutched her teddy bear. 

"On it!" Clint jumps off the building, twisting his body around and shooting an arrow. It embeds itself in the wall and lets out a cord. Clint swings down and jumps a couple of feet to the ground. He takes off down the street, dodging lasers and flying debris. 

"-Lint!" He hears in his comms. "Out -he Ueen!" 

"Steve? Hey! Steve!" 

"Ta...ou...th...Quee...!"

"Steve? Hey!" 

A shadow crawls over Clint. Looking up, he sees that the Queen is above him, making it's way to the building he and Natasha had occupied moments before. 

_How did it get there so fast?_

"Natasha, the Queen is coming to you! I'll be there as soon as I can!" He shouts, hoping that Natasha hears him. He gets nothing in return as he runs for the little girl. 

He kneels in front of her. "Hey, Sweetie! Let's get out of here, okay?" She nods, tearful, and snotty. Clint picks her up and she wraps her free arm around his neck. He surveys the area, searching for a safe place for her. Where do you put a defenseless little girl with nothing but chaos going on? And then he sees it. In a building just 10 feet away, a man opens a door leading into a building. He's ushering for Clint to come over. He takes a hit to the bicep on his way over and falls to one knee, gritting his teeth and willing for the after-burning of a laser to subside. 

"Are you okay, Mister Hawkeye?!" The little girl gasps. 

His heart swells at the fact that this little girl even knows who he is. Clint usually doesn't take people not knowing who he is to heart. How could he measure up to Captain America and Thor and the Hulk? It works out for the better anyway, since he has to go undercover on missions sometimes. The fewer people that know who he is the better. 

"I'll be okay, don't worry about me, Sweetie!" He feels blood trickling down his arm from the wound. He doesn't think it needs stitches, but he's never good at guessing just how bad his injuries are. 

He gets up and hurries over and into the building. Two crying women rush over and embrace the girl. "Thank you!" They tell him. "Thank you! You saved her!" 

Clint gives them a grin and a salute before running back out into the disarray. He begins taking bots out again as he chases after the Queen. She's still a good distance away, headed straight for the Empire State Building. 

"Clint! Take out the Queen now!" Steve's voice comes in loud and clear now. 

"I can't, Cap! I'm too far away!" 

"You're supposed to be on the rooftop off 34th!"

"I'm not anymore! I'm on the ground!" He takes out three more bots. "Nat, where are you?!"

"I'm on the ground too!"

That gives Clint such relief he could fall to the ground, you know if a million tiny crappy robots weren't trying to kill him. Steve is still shouting out orders and Clint is once again almost overpowered by relief when he hears Bucky reply to something Steve said. He takes a second to wonder what number Bucky is at and if he's beaten the Winter Soldier yet, but then he remembers he hasn't been keeping track. So, there is no way to tell if Clint has won or not. 

Clint spots a flash of red and smiles as he watches his best friend jump onto a bot and stabs it with her knives. It falls to the ground, as does she, but only she lands much more gracefully than the bot does. Natasha doesn't have her feet on the ground more than a few seconds when the Queen releases a laser and hits the sidewalk under Natasha's feet. She flies up along with debris from the road. She hits a nearby building before falling limply to the ground. 

"Nat!" He yells. He reaches over his shoulder to grab an arrow but finds none. "Shit!" 

"Clint, where are you?!" Steve yells. 

"I'm a little busy!" He shouts as he makes his way over to Natasha. 

"We need the Queen taken down now!"

He ignores Steve as he falls to his knees next to Natasha. After gently feeling around, he knows she has some broken ribs and her bleeding temple doesn't look too great either. 

"Nat, hey, hey," he breathes as he continues to make a mental list of her injuries. "Wake up, please. C'mon."

"CLINT!"

Clint could have found an arrow, one that was lodged into one of the dead bots that scattered the streets. But Natasha was seriously hurt and...he covers Natasha carefully to protect her from any flying debris as the Queen crashes into the Empire State Building.

"Where were you?!" Steve asks. 

"We were taking out bots and..." He shakes his head, "Nat saw a-"

"You left your post." 

Steve has his arms crossed over his broad chest, face stern, his Captain America's _I'm-so-disappointed-in-you_ face staring down at Clint. It makes Clint feel like he committed the ultimate sin. And he wasn't in the mood for this. His best friend was hurt, he was tired, worried, and his arm hurt like hell. He wanted to see Natasha, a hot shower, and to fall into bed with Bucky. 

"Well, yeah, but..."

"When I give you an order, I expect you to obey it!"

"Hey," Clint laughs in disbelief, "Just listen-"

"I said I needed you up high! Taking out those bots! You left your post! People got hurt, Natasha got hurt. The Empire State Building is just a pile of steel and concrete now because you couldn't take out the Queen when I told you to! You're lucky the building had already been evacuated!"

"And because you didn't do your job, Katniss, I had to do it," Tony throws in. "You're welcome, by the way."

Sam stayed silent, though his face told Clint everything he needed to know. He was just as pissed as Steve. Bruce was choosing to stay silent as well, but Clint saw the judging look on his features. That's rich, coming from the man who has a serious anger problem. As for Thor, Clint was hoping the God would convince the others to let him explain. But instead, he got, "It was very reckless of you, Clint. I am most disappointed." 

"Everything was just out of control! It was out of my hands! I'm not-I'm just a guy with a bow and some arrows."

Bucky places a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, look, just," he bites his lips, thinking how to word what he planned to say next, "listen to Steve next time, okay?" 

Clint expected this, for Bucky to side with Steve. But he had hoped...How could he have thought any differently? If Steve suddenly decided to go live on the moon, Bucky would support him 100%. It's always been Steve and Bucky, Bucky and Steve. And yes, Clint has Natasha, he has his own best friend he would do anything for, but it hurts, hurts so bad Clint can barely stand it. He would rather take a beating than to feel what he is feeling now. 

Anger rises in Clint. "I know you idolize Steve, Bucky," he wrenches his shoulder out of his grasp, "but believe it or not, he doesn't know everything! He's not a Saint!" He shouts looking at Steve bitterly.

Steve sighs, angrily. "You're suspended from any Avenger duty until further notice!" 

Is this what families do? Throw you away when you make a mistake? As if you were an old coat? Everyone is looking at him with anger and disappointment. It's suffocating. The room is suddenly too hot, too small. 

Clint lets out a humorless laugh. "Alright, Cap, fine." 

He turns and walks from the room. He was down the hall when he heard footsteps behind him. 

"Clint!"

Clint inhales through his mouth and exhales through his nose angrily. With his fists clenched at his sides, he spits out, "What," in a dangerously low voice. 

"This all could have been avoided if you didn't..."

"If I didn't leave my fucking post, I know!" He spins around to look at his boyfriend. Clint wasn't expecting Bucky to be as close as he was. "He didn't give me a chance to explain! He's too busy being a self-righteous, prick!" 

"Hey!" Bucky yells. "Don't talk about Steve like that. He gave us all orders and you disobeyed yours. Just," he closes his eyes and sighs before opening them again, "go home and cool down, okay?"

Clint looks Bucky, really looks at him. His hair down, stopping an inch above his shoulders, his tactical vest full of dust and his pants has a rip in the right knee. He seems to be free of injuries of any kind. But the look on his face says it all. He doesn't want to hear Clint try to explain what happened out there. He's angry at Clint. He's angry because he disobeyed the Great and Knowing Steve Rogers, he's angry because he insulted his best friend. And Dammit, Clint wants to punch his handsome face. 

But instead, he says, "Okay, Bucky." And he turns and leaves. 

Clint stands in the middle of the living room of his and Bucky's shared floor at the Tower. It used to be his, back before _heandBucky_. There's a mixture of their things spread throughout their floor. A pair of Bucky's steel-toed boots are by the door, along with a jacket that belongs to the ex-Winter Soldier, Clint has a hoodie thrown over the back of the couch, a stray arrow on the kitchen counter, his empty quiver, and bow on the kitchen table where he tossed them aside angrily when he came home. Everything in this place is Bucky and him and he suddenly can't breathe, can't stay there.

In the bedroom, he takes a moment to stare at the bed. Just that morning everything was fine, everything was _perfect_. He and Bucky were laid in bed, they were going to _make love_ as Bucky puts it, no one was angry with Clint and Clint didn't feel so betrayed, tossed away like yesterday's trash. 

Quickly, he goes to the closet and pulls out a duffel bag. He puts the bag on the bed and begins filling it with clothes. Once it's full, he changes out of his Hawkeye uniform and finally puts an actual bandage around his still slightly bleeding wound and tosses aside the blood-soaked bandanna he had wrapped around his arm. Slipping into a leather jacket, he leaves the bedroom. 

On his way to the door something catches his eye; a framed photograph, a present from Steve. He goes over to the kitchen counter and picks it up. Bucky has his arm slung loosely over Clint's shoulders and they're both laughing, Clint is wearing a stupid pointed party hat and Bucky has a noisemaker, shimmering confetti cascading down around them. The picture was taken a few months back at Tony's New Years' party. He swallows thickly as he brushes his thumb over Bucky's picture. And even though his eyes sting he refuses to shed a single tear over this. 

A part of him always knew this was too good to be true; a good, but sometimes hard life as an Avenger, friends, a family, a boyfriend. A part of him was always waiting for the rug to be ripped out from under him. 

He places the picture face down and leaves. 

Natasha wants to smash whatever machine that keeps beeping. The throbbing pain in her head is steadily getting worse and when she finally opens her eyes she groans at the harsh lighting. 

"Agent Romanoff?" 

Natasha lets out a small sigh and turns her head to see Dr. Cho adjusting something on one of the many machines in the room. 

"Hey, Helen." Her voice sounds rough, her throat dry and scratchy. "What's the damage?"

"Three broken ribs, plus some badly bruised ones, fractured wrist, sprained knee, and finally a nasty concussion." 

Natasha sighs and turns head to look straight up at the white-tiled ceiling.

"How are the others?"

"Most just have a few bumps and scrapes, nothing too serious."

"How's Clint?"

"He had an open, burned wound on his bicep, most likely from one of those robot's lasers. But I was too focused on helping you, so I sent one of my nurses to check on him, but she told me that he refused any medical help." 

"Sounds like him." 

"Are you up for having some visitors?"

"Send them in."

Dr. Cho sends her a smile and opens the door. She leans out and says, "Come on in, boys." 

Soon the room is swamped with very muscular men and she surveys the room, her smile dropping.

"Where's Clint?" 

"вы идиоты!" She yells and immediately winces, clutching her ribs. 

Steve steps close, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Take it easy, Natasha."

"Don't touch me!" She snarls and everyone in the room backs up. 

"You-you," she's shaking with anger, a machine starts beeping rapidly, "you didn't give him a chance to explain, did you? He left his fucking post to save a little girl. And then he..." She stops, thinking back to the battle. 

"Natasha?" Steve asks worriedly. 

"The Queen did something...with a laser? And the sidewalk I was on blew up. That's when I got hurt. Clint was there with me. He..." She trails off, hearing a ghost of an echo of Clint yelling at her, of Clint's gentle, but still frantic hands on her body. 

She swallows thickly. "He was trying to make sure I was okay. Oh, but since he left his post, you were right to yell and accuse and suspend him from the team." Sarcasm dripped from her voice like melted ice cream. 

"Shit," Bucky mutters, taking his phone out and pressing a button before bringing it to his ear. 

Natasha smiles maliciously at the look on Steve's face like someone slapped him. 

"He's not answering," Bucky says.

"Jay," Tony says, holding his phone up; on speakerphone, "Is Clint at the Tower?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir. He left approximately one hour and 12 minutes ago with a bag."

"He couldn't have gotten far," Tony says. "Jarvis, I want an APB out on Clint Barton and I want access to all traffic cameras."

"Right away, Sir."

Natasha looks down at the I.V. needle embedded into the back of her hand. She knows they won't find Clint. Clint is a trained assassin. He knows how to go off-grid. He won't be found unless he wants to be found. 

Natasha then looks up and takes in the broken, lost look on Bucky's face. "I'm ashamed of you." 

Dr. Cho steps into the room. "I think that everyone needs to leave. You're upsetting my patient," she says in a stern voice, arms crossed over her chest. 

"I'm going to make things right," Steve says, looking intensely into Natasha's eyes. 

She looks away quickly. 

Everyone leaves the room, Tony speaking to Jarvis, the others' heads hanging in shame, in guilt. 

"Agent Romanoff," Dr. Cho says gently, "Agent Barton called to check in on your status. And he left you a message." She holds out a folded piece of paper. 

Natasha takes it and says, "Don't tell the others that he called, okay?"

"I couldn't help but overhear what happened in the field today," she breaks eye contact with Natasha as if embarrassed at her eavesdropping, "And...well, you have my word, Agent."

Natasha gives the good Doctor her tiny Natasha grin. "Thank you." 

When Dr. Cho leaves, Natasha unfolds the note. 

_Glad you're okay. Need some time. Love you. -Clint_

She takes a deep breath even though her ribs protest and holds the note to her chest in relief. She would have killed Clint if he just took off without some kind of contact with her. 

Clint just made it to his apartment in D.C. He sighs as he looks around the place as he stands at the door. Rubbing his tired face, he makes a mental list of things he needs to do. 

1\. Get some groceries  
2\. Clean  
3\. Shower  
4\. Sleep

It's a lot. He hasn't been here since...he can't even remember when. Maybe when he stopped by when he had that mission in Angola...a year ago? There's at least an inch of dust on everything. And Dear God, he hopes he didn't leave anything in the fridge. He drops his bag on the floor before heading out again. 

When he returns, it's with two large brown paper sacks filled to the brim with food and other essentials. As he sets them down on the counter, there's a knock on the door. Clint stills for just a second before reaching behind him and pulling a gun from the waist of his pants. Walking slowly and silently to the door, he stays to the right side of it. 

"Who is it?"

For a brief moment he thinks it could be Bucky, but that's impossible, none of the Avengers knows about this place, not even Natasha. And there is no way that they found him. He knows how to cover his tracks. 

Another knock. 

He opens the door, still sticking to the right of it. Staying low he jerks around the door only to be met with an all too familiar smile. 

"Ethan!" He exclaims, straightening up.

The said man leans against the door frame, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, that blinding Ethan Hunt smile on his face. 

"What do you say to a mission in Istanbul?" 

Steve finds Bucky on his and Clint's floor. It's dark, except for the small light from underneath one of the cabinets above the counter. Bucky seated at the small, round kitchen table. He's leaned back in his chair, one leg out in front of him, a bottle of whiskey in the center of the table, a glass in one hand, and one of Clint's arrows in the other. He was hoping a drink would stop the shaking in his hands and the racing of his heart. It hasn't. 

Steve pulls out the other chair, opposite him, and sits down. He sees that there is a picture frame on the table as well. Steve had taken the picture at Tony's last New Years Eve party. And then proceeded to put it in the frame and give it to Bucky for his birthday. In the picture, Clint and Bucky are so happy, so in love with each other. And the guilt that's been brewing inside him all day boils, hot and fiery. 

"Can you even get drunk?"

"I'm going to find out." 

Steve rests a hand on Bucky's flesh arm. "We'll find him, Buck. We'll bring him home." 

"Yeah," Bucky huffs a single, choppy laugh as he tilts his glass, watching the whiskey slide to one side. "But when we do, what am I going to do if he doesn't want to come home?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr: [flowersonmymind1016](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flowersonmymind1016)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Let me know what y'all think!~

"I hate all of you," Clint says into his earpiece as he weaves through the crowd of party-goers. Women in elegant, but revealing gowns, men dressed smartly in black tuxedos. He hears the buzzing of chatter and laughter, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the soft music from a string quartet. 

"No, you don't."

Clint hates how amused Ethan sounds. How can someone be so happy about everything as Ethan is? 

"No, no, I do. I hate you guys. Remind me again why I have to seduce the rich guy?"

"Because in Mumbai you said, and I quote, _Next time I get to seduce the rich guy_ ," Benji says, sounding much too delightful about the whole thing. "I have the audio file if you don't believe me." 

Clint wishes he could throw his head back and let out a loud, drawn-out groan. But you don't do that at fancy banquet parties such as this. It's not professional. 

Professional, Clint almost laughs at the word. They are supposed to be professionals when on missions, but here they are using codenames, names out of a children's storybook.

"You really weird me out sometimes, Pooh Bear, you know that?"

"It's a gift. And why is it that I'm Pooh Bear?"

"Because you're adorable," Jane supplies and Clint knows Benji blushing in the darkened supply closet upstairs he's stashed away in as he types away on his laptop. 

"Aw! And the same goes for you, Piglet!"

"No one speaks a word of this after tonight," she deadpans and Clint and Benji agree. 

Clint bites his lip to keep from smiling. He makes it to the bar. He and Jane make brief eye contact as she's shaking a cocktail shaker. He watches her finish, opening the shaker and pouring out a clear liquid into a glass over an olive. 

"Alright, guys," Ethan says, "focus. Eyore, the target is coming up on your left."

"Target in sight, Tigger," Clint replies as he catches the target walking up towards the bar. 

Clint leans his elbow on the bar, trying to act as casual as possible. The target, Phillip Browning, appears on his left as Ethan said. Clint glances at him briefly; handsome, long, dark hair tied up into a neat bun, tall. At first glance, he almost looked like...

Clint averted his attention away quickly, focusing on the bottles filled with alcohol that lined the shelves on the back wall behind the bar. He came here to stop the buying and selling of a deadly virus, not be thrown back into inner turmoil and heartache. Besides, this guy has a beard, a nice, full one. Bucky only ever had scruff. Browning has to be about 3 inches taller than Bucky, more lean than muscular. The two are completely different looking people...

Browning seems to be waiting patiently for Jane to get to him, to take his drink order.

Someone bumps into Clint, forcing his back to stomach into the bar. He grunts at the impact. Then there is a hand on his forearm and one on his waist, steadying him. A body pressed against his back.

Ethan's voice is loud but unsteady in his ear. "There you are! Been lookin' ev'rwhere for you, baby. Wa'na go up to our roooom and, uh, you know, have some time alone?"

"Nick," Clint laughs embarrassed, quickly glancing at Browning and then back to Ethan, "stop. You said you weren't going to this tonight." He fights against Ethan's grip on his arm. 

"Oh, baby, I know," he almost sings, his words streaming together as he fakes drunken lust. "But you know you can't teach an old dog new tricks, baby." 

"Nick, please," Clint pleads, his voice wavering, "you're hurting me."

"But, baby-" 

A deep, scruffy voice cuts through their conversation, "He said stop it, pal. And I'd stop if I were you." Browning straightens up, towering over both Ethan and Clint. 

"Alrigh', alrigh'," Ethan holds his hands up in defeat, "don wan' any troubllle! You can haaave him too-night. I'll get him bah-ck in the mornin', always do." He tugs on the lapels of his tux, straightening his jacket out before leaning over and placing a quick, sloppy kiss on Clint's lips. "See ya, baby," he says before disappearing through the crowd.

"Thanks," Clint says, giving him a sheepish smile. 

"How do you know that asshole?"

Clint's eyes fall to his hand as he twists the golden band around twice before holding it out for Browning to see. 

The target blows out, "Phew, couldn't stand to be around that guy two minutes! Can't even imagine what it's like to be married to him."

Clint smiles ruefully, shaking his head. "He wasn't always like this, it's just-" He laughs, "-it's a long story. I don't feel like getting into it now. I just want to forget about him for tonight."

Jane comes by and asks for Browning's drink order. 

"Jack on the rocks, Honey." And then, he turns back to Clint. 

"I bet I can help you do that. What's your name, sweetheart?"

Clint turns his body to him. "Thomas," he rests a hand on the target's arm, "but my friends call me Tom." He steps into the target's space, his lips brushing against Browning's ear as he whispers, "But you can call me anything you want if you take me to bed." 

"You sure your husband won't mind?"

Clint's grin widens before he bites his lip and slowly lets it slide from his teeth. "Trust me, he won't." 

Browning takes his hand off the bartop and brings it to Clint's lower back, bringing Clint to him, pressing Clint's body into his. 

"Well, in that case."

Clint lowers his hands until they rest on Browning's ass, squeezing it. He brushes his lips over the thin skin over Browning's throat and then opens his mouth and licks a long strip over the expanse of Browning's skin. 

"Eager, aren't we?" Browning says, his breathing shaky. 

"Your drink, Sir," Jane says, setting the drink on the bar. 

Clint stops and picks it up and sips, peering at Browning over the top of the glass. 

"You steal my attention and my drink. What else are you going to steal?"

Lowering the drink Clint licks his lips free of any Jack. "Guess you'll have to see, won't you?"

When Browning walks over to the stereo to find the song on his liking, Clint pours them each another drink at the mini bar, drugging Browning's as he does. 

When Clint hears some cheesy R&B song fill the room, he knows what's coming, the part he had been dreading the most. 

He hears footsteps on the carpet, coming closer and closer. Clint's heart races and he tries his best to steady his breathing. 

Browning grabs him; a hand on the back his neck and the other on the small of his back. Clint's body is forced into the other man's. And his lips find Clint's immediately. His heart jolts, as does his stomach as air leaves his lungs. Clint brings his hand up to Browning's hair and pulls the hair tie out, letting his hair fall to his shoulders. He buries his fingers in the brown strands and shoves his tongue into his mouth. 

And suddenly, Clint's back is on the bed, Browning on top of him, hands moving all over his body, lips, and teeth on his neck. 

"Gonna show you a good time, baby." 

When he feels the man's erection against his thigh, Clint has to fight the urge to shove the man away. 

The drug is working, if his slow movements and the slobber running down Clint's neck is anything to go by. The kissing and sucking and groping go on for several more minutes until Browning picks his head up to look at Clint, eyes unfocused. 

"What-you...what did you do?!" His words slow, slurred. 

Clint pushes him off. He is quick to grab Browning's wrists and wrench them behind his back as he shoves him face-first into the bed beneath them. 

"Why don't you tell me where you put that virus, huh?" Clint asks as he straddles the man. 

"Beh-tich!" He mumbles into the pillow below him. 

Clint chuckles, whether to hide his anger or his growing anxiety, he doesn't know. He pushes Browning's wrist further up his spine, eliciting a muffled yell from his victim. 

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Undwer...th..behd..." 

"You left a deadly virus under the bed in your hotel room?" Clint deadpans. 

"Bri-cas..."

"There a lock? Combination? Tell me!" 

"Sven...fu-ive...tree...twoo...nyh-ne."

"That it? 'Cause if it's not I'm going to do a lot worse than this, trust me."

"Swear, swear!"

Clint punches him, hard, probably too hard, but the bastard deserved it. With Browning knocked out, Clint gets off him and kneels on the carpeted floor beside the bed. He pulls the silver briefcase out and lays it on the bed. 

He tests the combination. When it pops open he lifts the lid to see a single test tube filled with a bright green liquid safely tucked in molding in the middle of the case. 

"In the words of our dear friend and leader, 'Mission Accomplished,'." 

He hears Jane and Benji laugh, while Ethan says, "You guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," the three say together. 

When they're tucked safely away at the safehouse, Clint locks himself into the bathroom. He hears the faint sound of Benji typing away on his computer in the living room and the clanking of silverware as Jane rummages through the kitchen. He's not sure where Ethan is, but he guesses he's in the kitchen or living room. 

The safehouse is small; the plaster is cracked in random places, and stains littler the ceiling and walls. The carpet in the living is stained with most likely blood from past injured IMF agents. The tiles in the bathroom full of grit and dirt and the sink yellowed over time, while the tub has a rust and water ring. He is not looking forward to sleeping on the bed. It smells musty and it's suffocating, weighing down on his lungs like cement. 

Clint has long since shed his tux jacket and bowtie and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. With his hands on either side of the sink, he watches as water swirls down the dirty drain. 

After he's splashed cold water on his face and rubbed his eyes harshly enough to see colors, he studies his reflection in the mirror and while the water runs down his tired face. 

"Get a hold of yourself, Brandt," he mutters. 

Turning the water off, he tries to decide what to do next; take a shower, or get in bed. He ends up on the floor, back against the door. 

It's not long before he hears the bedroom door open and the sound of footsteps across the carpeted floor. 

"Will? Everything okay?"

He draws his knees up and with his elbow resting on his knee, he leans his forehead into his hand, massaging his temple, willing his growing headache to go away. "No," he says eventually, voice raw and too loud for the quiet bathroom. 

"Do you want to come out here?"

"Not really."

He hears Ethan grunt softly and the sound of cloth sliding against the wall. When Ethan speaks again, he sounds much closer and Clint knows Ethan is on the floor too. 

"That's okay. We can talk through the door." 

It's quiet for a long time, the silence both comforting and suffocating to Clint. Just when it starts to become too much, Ethan speaks, his voice almost too loud as it cuts through the silence. 

"You can cross getting to seduce the rich guy off your bucket list now." 

Clint huffs out a laugh on a quiet breath. "Yeah." 

He knows Ethan has that trademark grin of his on his face and just the image alone almost brings a smile to his lips. 

Swallowing down the painful soreness in his throat, he says, "Browning just...I've had to seduce men and women on the job before, but this time it just..." He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, "Browning looked like him. I mean-resembled him...a little- I don't know. It just..." He inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out shakily through his mouth. "It's just...still so hard."

"It's only been three weeks."

"Feels like a lot longer, but at the same time, it feels like it all happened just yesterday."

It's Ethan's turn to stay silent. 

"Sometimes, I think I'd be better off if I just left this life behind. Go hideout in the mountains somewhere."

"And leave us? What would we do without you?" 

Clint can hear the half teasing, half seriousness in his friend's voice. He knows if he really wanted out of this life then Ethan would support him. But the thought of leaving Ethan and their friends makes Clint's heart constrict painfully in his chest. He doesn't want to go back to being alone like how it was before Coulson found him, before he met Natasha, before they joined the Avengers. 

"Yeah," Clint huffs out a single, choppy laugh. 

"Hey." Ethan says achingly honest, "You did good tonight."

Clint doesn't say anything to that, not having the energy to. 

"You saved the world. I couldn't be prouder of my husband." Clint can hear a hint of amusement in his voice. He looks down at the ring on his finger. He toys with it before slipping it off his finger and studying it.

Clint is no stranger to pretending to be married. On missions, he and Natasha have had to fake marriage numerous times. And in the three years, he's known Ethan he's lost count on how many times he's been married to Ethan Hunt. But still, the gold band looks strange on his finger. 

"What does being married to Ethan Hunt entail? You know, besides high blood pressure and headaches." 

Ethan laughs. "I'll buy you a drink when we get back home."

"That's it?! I've given you the best years of my life and all I get in return is a drink?!"

Ethan continues to laugh and Clint moves away from the door and opens it. Ethan is leaned against the wall beside the door, legs drawn loosely up, an arm laying across his knees. He has his head turned, looking at Clint. 

"Thanks," Clint tells him. 

Ethan just smiles softly at him. "No problem."

"Now, let's get off this floor. God only knows what's on it." 

Clint is just putting the finishing touches on his sandwich when his phone rings. He picks it up, answering it, and then wedging it between his shoulder and ear. 

"What could Ethan Hunt possibly want on a Friday night?"

"He wants to see what William Brandt was up to."

"I'm actually out right now. I'm at a bar with a dozen of my closest friends, getting drunk, living life to its fullest." 

"It's a pretty quiet bar you're in."

"I stepped out, you know," Clint laughs softly, "to smoke." 

"You don't smoke. Just open your door and let us in." 

Clint hangs up the phone and walks over to his door and opens it. Ethan, Benji, and Jane are standing there, arms full of food and drinks.

"You put that sandwich down!" Jane scolds as she shoves past him. "I brought Mexican and beer!" She deposits the six-pack and brown paper sack down on the kitchen counter. 

"No one wants that!" Benji scolds, coming in as well, "I got pizza and soda!" He sets it next to the food Jane brought. 

Ethan steps in, closing the door behind him. Though, he doesn't move further into the apartment, choosing to stay next to Clint. 

"What did you bring?" Clint asks, amused. 

"Indian and wine."

Clint rolls his eyes fondly. 

"Give me that," Jane says taking the sandwich from his hand, holding it out between her thumb and forefinger as if it's something disgusting as she walks it over to the kitchen trashcan and disposes of it. 

"What brought this on?" Clint asks, looking to Ethan. 

"We've noticed you've been in the mully grubs lately and thought a night in with your best mates would do you some good!" Benji answers for their team leader. 

"And we're here to save you from eating a shitty dinner," Jane says coming around the counter and crossing her arms over her chest as she leans on it. 

"Well, thank you for bringing carbs and heart attacks." 

"William, ever the epitome of sunshine," Benji says dryly. 

Before Clint can reply to that Benji's face changes; eyes wide, smile so big it looks like it hurts. 

"AND," Benji says excitedly as he holds up a huge brick in both of his hands, "Lord of the Rings! _Extended_ editions, of course!" 

"Now it's a party," Clint says tediously. 

"Stop that, if we hadn't stopped by then you would be eating a cold, poorly made sandwich right now while you sit on the couch alone watching shitty crime shows," Jane says. 

"You know me so well." 

Jane grins amiably. 

"I do," she says proudly as she pushes off the counter. She walks around it, Clint shouting after her as she goes into the kitchen, "And CSI is not shitty!" Clint doesn't get a reply but hears the clanking of plates and silverware in return.

With the food dished out and drinks poured, they spread around the living room as the Fellowship of the Ring begins to play. 

Halfway through the movie, they have to pause it because a debate broke out on who the true hero of the trilogy is, which ends with Jane throwing a pepperoni at Benji's face. It stuck to the center of his forehead and Clint almost spewed out his beer. He ended up coughing and laughing while Ethan patted his back. This didn't stop Jane and Benji from continuing their debate. It wasn't long before they roped both, he and Ethan, and demanded that they take sides. 

"Gotta side with Jane, Benji, sorry," Clint said, bringing the bottle of his beer up to his lips and taking a drink. 

"You're only siding with her because you fear her!"

"Not true! Samwise is the true hero! How many times would Frodo have died without him?! He was always saving his Hobbit ass!"

Benji ignored him and turned to their team leader. "Ethan, my boy, I know you will make the right decision and by the right decision I mean Aragorn."

"Sorry, Benji," Ethan grinned widely. 

Benji flopped back in his seat, groaning and throwing his hands up. Their laughter is drowned out as he starts the movie again. 

They settle back down, the movie grabbing their attention once again. Clint looks to his right, Jane is curled up in the corner, her toes resting against his thigh, her eyes trained to the tv. His eyes wander to Benji, on the other side of Jane, laid back in the recliner, watching the screen intently, passionately. Turning his head he studies Ethan. The famous Ethan Hunt, the IMF's best agent, is sitting in his living room watching Lord of the Rings and drinking wine. And is one of his closest friends. He watches Ethan sip from his glass, eyes trained to the tv. Ethan must sense his watchful gaze and averts his attention from the movie to look at Clint. He smiles at Clint and Clint returns it, grinning with true adoration for his friend. 

The pain of what happened just a few weeks before still weighs on his heart, but for the first time since leaving the Avengers, he feels wanted. He feels happy. 

By 3 A.M. Benji is fast asleep in the armchair, head thrown back, mouth open, snoring so loudly Clint swore it shook the building. The Return of the King is playing; battle cries, swords clashing, somber music. 

He doesn't know. After almost 12 hours they're all beginning to blur together. His eyes are burning, jaw aching from yawning, and his head feels like it's full of lead. All the signs that his body was begging for sleep. 

"I don't know about you, boys, but I need some sleep," Jane says, the end of her sentence giving way to a long yawn.

"Take my bed," Clint says, gesturing to his bedroom. 

She shakes her head. "I'll sleep here. You two go on." 

Clint knows better than to argue with Jane Carter. In a lot of ways she reminds him of Natasha, definitely not as scary, but close enough. And just like Natasha, Jane has a softer side that takes time to get to. 

Ethan follows him to the bedroom and begins settling in while Clint opens his closet and takes out extra blankets. He walks out into the living room again and drapes one over Benji, who doesn't even flinch. And then the other over Jane, who wraps it tighter around her shoulders, snuggling deeper into the couch. He makes sure the blanket is covering her feet. 

"Thanks, Will," she says sleepily. 

"Sleep tight," he replies softly. 

He finds Ethan sitting with his back against the headboard, already tucked under the comforter. Clint crawls in next to him and turns off the bedside table lamp. Ethan moves down the bed until they're facing each other. 

"This has been my first sleepover since I was, like, 8," Ethan says, eliciting a laugh from Clint. 

"I think this was my first sleepover, ever." 

He doesn't think the Avengers' team movie nights count. After the movie ends, they always go back to their own floors. 

Clint knows Ethan is smiling in the darkened room. Silence falls upon them for a long time and if Clint didn't know Ethan as well he does, then he would say he had fallen asleep already. 

"Thanks," he says so quietly he himself barely heard it, "for tonight. I didn't know it was something I needed." 

"I know that Benji and Jane don't know everything, but we're here for you, Will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Come talk to me on Tumblr: [flowersonmymind1016](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flowersonmymind1016)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so disappointed in this chapter, but then my lovely betas theash0 and [merelypassingtime](https://merelypassingtime.tumblr.com/) looked over it and helped make it better! I'm almost done with the next chapter and I'll hopefully have it up soon. Just so y'all know, the next chapter is my favorite so far!

"Sergeant Barnes?" The A.I.'s voice startles him out of his thoughts. 

"Yeah, Jarvis?" Bucky sighs. 

"Are you planning on entering the range or standing outside of the door all day?"

Bucky huffs, annoyed at being caught, at having no privacy in this tower. Jarvis sometimes can be as annoying as Stark, but since Stark created it, it's not a surprise. 

But Jarvis does have a point. He has been standing in front of the door leading to the range for a while now. He hasn't been there in weeks. Not since before Clint left. Even though they shared a floor, the range had always been their place in the tower. Even before they got together they spent hours upon hours here competing against each other and teasing one another relentlessly. 

"Would you like me to contact Captain Rogers?" 

"No." 

"Do you remember the passcode to enter the range, Sergeant Barnes? It has been exactly 73 days since you last entered the range. You could have for-"

"I remember the damn code!" Bucky shouts, feeling silly at getting angry with an A.I., a robotic voice. 

Silence falls upon him for a few moments before the door to the range slides open and Bucky glares up at the ceiling as if he were glaring at Jarvis. 

"You're welcome, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky's frown deepens and he waits a moment out of spite before entering the room. The space is large and open; split into various targets adapted for archery, guns, and knives. The range smells of gunpowder and oil as it always does. This space, the smell of it, the feel of it, the memories he has of it, are all just painful reminders that Clint isn't here. The space feels eerie and cold now and he swears he can hear an echo of Clint's laugh or a ghost of a playful taunt. 

He walks over to the far wall and enters the code on the pad and the wall opens up, revealing an array of weapons; rifles of all kinds, handguns, knives of all sizes and shapes, and even an extra bow with dozens of arrows with all sorts of arrowheads. Bucky's fingers brush over the bow, feeling the coolness of the fiberglass and carbon before carefully picking up one of the sniper rifles. He checks the chamber, empty, before grabbing a loaded clip. Jarvis has already set up a target for him while he loads the rifle. He brings the rifle up, closing one eye and with the other staring down the barrel as he lines it up with his target. 

He thinks of Clint's hazel eyes. How beautiful they are and how he used to get lost in them. 

He fires, the bullet soaring across the room before hitting the bullseye of the target across the room.

He thinks of Clint's laugh; loud and infectious, how when Clint smiles the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

Another bullet hits the target, bullseye. 

He thinks of Clint's head thrown back as Bucky kissed along the expanse of his neck, rubbed his stubble over Clint's throat, making him moan his name as Bucky rolled his hips into him. 

He empties the rest of the clip, quickly, angrily, the bullets spraying all over the place, some hitting the target, some missing completely. He exhales sharply, lowering his gun to his side. He can't do anything without thinking of Clint. There is no place he can go that doesn’t remind him of Clint; nowhere in the tower at all, and hardly anywhere in the city either. The pizzerias, the coffee shops, the parks. All of them places Clint and Bucky had been together. 

He doesn't hear the door slide open. And he doesn't feel the presence of the person who enters the room. 

Steve watches his best friend from the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, face pinched in concern. He doesn't know if he should be thankful that Bucky is finally doing something other than searching for Clint, or worried that Bucky chose this manner to vent his frustrations. With Clint missing, Bucky hasn't been the same. None of them have. With every day they don't find Clint Steve's worry grows not only for Clint but for Bucky as well. Steve knows Clint can take care of himself, but they have so many enemies out there. His heart clenches at the thought of Clint being captured and tortured and killed by Hydra. 

Taking a stuttering breath to calm himself, his thoughts go back to his best friend. He wonders if this Bucky is worse than the one he brought to the tower, the Bucky who was silent, broken, and still piecing together who he was. Steve knows Bucky doesn't sleep well if he sleeps at all and doesn't know if he eats. Steve tries to have at least one meal a day with Bucky, but they're all so busy trying to find Clint that it's hard. Bucky doesn't talk to anyone, the last time they had an actual conversation was the night Clint left, and even then much was left unsaid. 

"Bucky," Steve's voice seems too loud in this empty room, "hey." He hopes this time Bucky will talk to him. 

Bucky stays silent, but Steve notices his shoulders tense on his name.

"Jarvis said you were down here."

A moment of silence passes before a rough, deep, "Figures," he grumbles under his breath. 

Steve doesn't flinch or wince at Bucky's harsh tone like anyone else would have, because Steve is the only one used to Bucky's anger. The only one besides Clint, of course.

"I just thought we could talk. It's been a while since we've done that." 

"Don't feel like it." The first couple of weeks after Clint left Bucky couldn't stand the sight of Steve. He blamed him for Clint leaving and avoided him at all costs. Bucky knew it was just him projecting his own guilt and anger onto Steve. They had all done wrong, Bucky knows that. It's just easier to place the blame on others sometimes. He still doesn't talk to Steve much, other than in passing, but Bucky doesn't talk to anyone. He doesn't have it in him to. The only person he wants to talk to isn't here. 

"Talk to me, Bucky. Please."

"There's nothing to talk about." Bucky finally turns around, but he doesn't look at Steve. He walks over to the weapons wall and grabs out another clip. When he turns to go back to the targets, Steve is there, cutting off his path as he gently rests a hand on his friend's shoulder, keeping him in place. 

"I know you're hurting, but bottling it all up isn't good. Talk to me, yell at me. Hell, take a swing at me. You don't have to go through this alone." Steve's voice sounds hopeful as he pleads again. 

"I don't know what to do without him, Steve." Bucky finally says after a few moments of silence. He always struggled talking about his feelings, even to Steve. Back in the day, he could charm the skirt off any girl, but talk about how he was feeling? His thoughts? Hopes and dreams? Not a chance. Clint had been the one who had taken down all of Bucky’s walls brick by brick. Steve is his best friend, but it’s Clint who knows him better than anyone and Bucky drove him away. 

Even though the situation and Bucky's words are heartbreaking, Steve can't help but feel relief that at least he's talking. Steve holds his tongue, the hand on Bucky's shoulder encouraging him to continue. It works.

"It's like I don't know who I am anymore without him. I never thought I could have a normal life after what Hydra did to me. Then you dragged my half-brain-washed ass here and I met Clint.” Bucky sighed, as if even saying the name hurt him. “He loved me, Stevie. Even though I'm so fucked up sometimes I can't even get out of bed and I spend the entire night at the range going through all the ammo like it's air. But-but now he's gone and," Bucky swallows thickly under Steve's intense, sorrowful gaze. 

"And do you know what the worst part of all of this is?" A beat of silence, as Steve's best friend finally locks eyes with him. "It isn't that he's not here. It's that he's out there somewhere thinking he doesn't matter to me."

"He _does_ matter,” Steve said firmly. “He matters to all of us. He has to know that. He's our family. We have eyes on traffic cams 24/7, every airport is on high alert for him, we even have the police looking for him. We're doing everything we can. We'll find him." 

"Will we?" Bucky's voice sounds dangerously low. "It's been months, Steve, and still no sign of him. He was trained for this. If he doesn't want to be found then he won't be." It’s hard to believe that it’s been this long. Bucky thinks sometimes of what it would have been like if he hadn’t taken Steve’s side, if he had stood up for Clint. Maybe Clint wouldn’t have left. 

Steve isn't sure what to say to that. He knows that Clint is one of the best agents there is, but he can't lose faith. If he does, then so would everyone else and then they would never find Clint. 

"We are bringing him home," Steve intones so confidently that Bucky looks at him knowing Steve believes that, but it's just Steve being Steve. 

Bucky shakes his head, considering Steve and their long friendship. Steve was always the optimistic one out of the two of them, but out of the two of them, it’s Bucky who knows Clint best. They won't find Clint unless Clint wants to be found. Still, that fact doesn't stop Bucky from going through the screens, the traffic cam footage for hours until his eyes hurt so bad he thinks he's going blind. 

Steve's fingers tighten on Bucky's shoulder. "Tony is going over the cameras right now, then it's Sam's shift. Let's get something to eat, okay?"

Steve had made schedules after Bucky had stared at the screens for 12 hours straight. Now they rotate; Steve gets the first watch, then Rhodey, Tony, Sam, and finally Bucky. Tony had assured them that Jarvis was looking and would alert them when he located Clint, but Steve, still not tech-savvy or trusting, insisted they have human eyes on the screens at all times. 

Bucky knows he can't escape Steve, especially when he's giving him that concerned but also authoritarian Captain America look. He gives his friend a nod and Steve smiles softly at him. 

It's late in the evening by the time Bucky goes to relieve Sam from _R.O.R_ duty as Tony calls it or in other words _redundant optic rechecking_. He had sat through an awkward meal of sandwiches and chips with Steve; neither man knowing what to say to one another for the first time in their lives. Steve eventually started rambling about some singer Sam had gotten him hooked on, while Bucky half-listened, picked away at his sandwich half-heartedly. When he walks into the op center Sam looks up from the screens. He looks tired and he leans back in his chair with a sigh. 

"Hey, man." 

"Hey."

Sam stands, rubbing his aching eyes. He rolls his shoulders and then stretches his back until it cracks and pops. He yawns wide and loud. 

"I didn't find anything, but maybe you will." Sam's smile is hopeful and encouraging. The two men never got along; always taking jabs and harshly teasing one another, but Bucky knows Sam is a good man, a good soldier. The teasing has become less grating and Bucky has always appreciated that Sam was there for Steve. And now Sam has been there for Bucky as well. 

Bucky nods as he takes the seat Sam had just occupied. 

"I'm sure Steve has asked before, but I was wondering if you wanted to go on our run with us in the morning."

"No, thanks." Bucky's eyes never leave the screens, eyes wandering over them, over the large crowds of the streets of New York and other faraway places. 

"I could skip the run and we could do something in the gym here. I don't mind taking a break from eating Steve's dust."

Bucky's lips twitch. No one can run as fast as Steve, except for T'challa, but he's all the way in Wakanda. "No, Steve looks forward to your run together."

"Really?" Sam perks up at this, the movement making Bucky finally look at him. "He said that?" He asks eagerly but trying to hide it. 

Bucky smirks. "He doesn't have to. I can tell." 

"Oh," Sam looks as if he wants to say something else, but doesn't. "Well, see you, man." He turns and heads for the door, leaving Bucky alone with the screens. Bucky prays that this time he finds something that could lead him to Clint. 

Hours later, Bucky rides the elevator up to his and Clint's floor after another dead end shift. No signs of his archer, but Bucky expected as much. He always hates the end of his shift because when Steve comes to relieve him he always gives Bucky his sympathetic Steve Rogers look. Bucky has never wanted to hurt Steve before but finds himself feeling the urge to punch the look off his face more and more.

The elevator doors slide open and Bucky steps onto his and Clint's floor. He hasn't moved any of Clint's things; a pair of boots still lay to the side of the door, his jacket and a hoodie on the hook by the door, a few of his arrows spread throughout the apartment; one on the coffee table in the living room, another leaned against the doorframe leading to their bedroom, another on the kitchen table, his coffee mug on the kitchen counter from the night before he left. But Clint's smell has long since disappeared from the apartment, with it the warmth of their home. 

He stands in the living room for a moment hearing the echo of 40's music and Clint's laugh. He sees the two of them dancing around the living room. Clint always stepped on his feet when they danced, but Bucky had never minded. Clint's excuse was the dance steps of the 40's were _complicated_ , but Clint had tried so hard and Bucky fell a little more in love with him every time. 

He quickly walks to their bedroom but pauses in the doorway when he sees their bed; sheets wrinkled and blanket piled up into a heap in the middle of the bed. He hasn't washed the sheets in...God since Clint left. He's surprised Mother Hen Steve hadn't done them for him already. How many hours did they lay together in each other's warmth, making love (because that's what they did), talking, sleeping? Clint had a sweet tooth and therefore had a bad habit of getting cookie crumbs in the bed. Bucky used to complain about it, but right now? He would welcome it. 

He strips off his clothes, leaving a trail of them across the floor on his way to the bathroom. He takes the hottest shower he can withstand. With his forehead leaned against the cool tile, his hands pressed flat against the wall, he can almost feel Clint's lips leaving a trail of kisses across his shoulder blades and up his neck and a whispered, _"Want me to wash your hair?"_

He quickly turns the water off and steps out of the shower. He dries off half-heartedly and throws on a pair of boxer-briefs before crawling into bed. He throws the blanket over him, kicking at it with his feet to get it over his body completely. 

"Jarvis, turn out the lights, will ya?"

There is no reply other than the room falling into complete darkness. Bucky lays on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling more images of Clint filtering through his mind like a movie. Bucky coming back from his morning workout with Steve to find Clint sitting on the counter, drinking coffee. Bucky laid out on the couch watching tv and Clint coming in and laying on top of him, Clint's head resting on his chest. Having a shooting competition at the range and that ended with both of them bickering over who really won. Clint dragging Bucky all over the city to plays, to museums, to diners and restaurants and bars, to movie theaters, to art galleries. 

With a sigh, he asks, "Jarvis, open the blinds a little, will ya?" 

The blinds across the room open by a 1/4, letting a little from the city lights stream in. There was a time when the lights and noise of New York brought him comfort, but nothing brings him comfort now. New York had always been his home, but he knows now that his home is Clint Barton. He inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out through his mouth before rolling over. 

He comes face to face with Clint. Bucky’s mind stutters to a halt. He is, as always, rendered breathless by how beautiful Clint is. 

"Why the long face, handsome?" Clint asks, his voice light, but mirthful. 

"Clint," he says on an exhale, but then falls silent, not knowing what to say. 

Clint smiles at him and reaches over, brushing his fingertips across Bucky's beard before cupping his jaw. Bucky leans into his touch. It almost seems real. Bucky can almost feel the callouses on Clint's fingertips from years of archery and fighting, he can almost feel the warmth of his archer's skin against his cheek. 

"I miss you," Bucky finally chokes out. "Doll, I need you to come home, so I can apologize, so I can make things right. Steve and everyone is really sorry for what we did. We want to see you. The team- we're falling apart without you." 

Clint doesn't say anything and Bucky swallows thickly, his eyes never leaving Clint's. He fights hard against the tears threatening to spill. 

"Please, come home." He whispers. "I-I need..." He blinks away his tears, to clear his vision, the tears running across the bridge of his nose and down onto the pillow below his head. When his vision is clear, Clint is gone. Bucky lets out a breathy sob. 

It's not the first time that he's seen Clint or even talked to him, but it's the first time Clint has talked and touched him. He hasn't told anyone about it, not even Steve, especially not Steve. The last thing he needs is his best friend worrying over him seeing things that aren't there. He keeps telling himself that it's just his twisted mind trying to deal with Clint's absence. But maybe he’s just gone mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr: [flowersonmymind1016](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flowersonmymind1016)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for y'all to read this chapter. It's my favorite so far! A huge thank you to my wonderful beta reader [merelypassingtime](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/merelypassingtime/) Also, ignore the end chapter note about Natasha shouting in Russian. It was for chapter one, but for some reason it's on the end of this chapter and I can't get rid of it...If y'all know how to get help me get rid of that, that would be great!

Clint woke up one Saturday morning to his phone buzzing on the nightstand. Groaning, he rolls over onto his stomach burying his face into his pillow, not ready to start the day just yet.

It buzzes again and he gives up; reaching over, blindly groping until his fingers brush over the device. When he looks at the screen, it's too bright and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. 

He has two messages from Jane. 

_Coffee at Minerva's?_ And then, _Don't even think of blowing me off, William!_

 _What time?_ He types out with lazy thumbs. 

_9_

And now he's sitting at a small table outside of Minerva's Cafe, staring at his double chocolate chip muffin longingly as he waits for Jane. His stomach growls and his mouth waters and just as he's about to give in and tear into the pastry, Jane slides into the seat across from him. 

Clint is always awed by her Goddess-like beauty. She slips her big sunglasses off and sets them on the table. He takes her in, maybe it's the highly trained spy in him to want to see every detail. He looks at her white and yellow sundress and her strappy sandals and her big hat. She was wearing just a touch of makeup, not that she needed any. 

"Thanks for ordering for me," she says as he picks up the over-sized coffee mug. Clint watches as she blows on her steaming drink before taking a sip. It's been a few weeks since their last mission where Clint had to seduce the rich guy and Clint has only seen Jane in passing at IMF headquarters. It's normal not to see his team members for days or even weeks at a time in between missions, but he always misses them. 

"How have you been?" She asks, meeting his eyes. 

"Fine and you?" 

"Good."

Before Clint can comment further her eyes narrow on him and she says, "Cut the shit, Will." 

"What?"

"You're not fine and you haven't been since you got back."

Clint freezes for a moment before picking up his mug and sipping it because he doesn't know what else to do. The black coffee goes down hard as if something was in his throat blocking its way down. 

"It's been three months, I kept thinking whatever it is you're going through would get better with time, but it hasn't." 

Her face softens. "Look, I don't know what happened to you, but I do know that you're hurting. When I lost Trevor I didn't think I would ever recover from it. It's taken a lot of time and therapy and I won't ever be completely healed, but it's gotten better." She picks her purse up from where it was dangling on the back of her chair and digs around in it before finding what she was looking for. She slides a business card across the tabletop towards him. 

He glances down at the card, briefly, long enough to know it was for a therapist, before looking back up to meet Jane's eyes. 

"Just," she says, before he can speak, "think about it." 

Clint reaches around and takes his wallet from his back pocket and slides the card into one of the empty sleeves. "I will." The words taste weird. He isn't sure if it's because they are a lie or if because he means them. 

She smiles at him and then sighs, "Okay, so next Friday, your place, food, and Star Trek, the movies." 

"Which ones?"

"Um," she looks at him as if he sprouted a second head, "all of them!"

"That's like 12 movies! That'll take all weekend!"

She tears off a piece of his blueberry muffin and points it at him. "Exactly!" She pops the bit of pastry in her mouth triumphantly as she watches Clint rant about how long it will take. 

A few days later Clint finds himself pinned down, Ethan's strong hands clasped around Clint's wrists, holding them down on either side of his head, the heavyweight of Ethan pressing him down into the floor. 

Panting, Ethan says, "You're not even trying. Where's your head?" 

"Huh?" Clint asks. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just..." He doesn't finish. Instead, he hooks his leg around Ethan's, successfully flipping them over. Ethan's back hits the blue mat with an echoing thud. 

"Have you ever gone to therapy?" Clint asks, hovering over the other man, but not meeting his eyes. 

The training room at IMF headquarters is for once empty, except for the two of them. But maybe that's because it's nearing 10 p.m. 

"Therapy?" Ethan asks on an exhale. He's quiet for a moment and Clint fears he overstepped. But Ethan speaks in a soft voice, "Yeah," he swallows hard, "after everything that happened with Jim and my old team." Clint hates that he brought it up. He shouldn't have asked. But Ethan continues, "And after Julia." He really shouldn't have brought it up. His chest tightens because he likes that Ethan is so open with him when he isn't so open with anyone else except for Luther. 

"Did it help?" Clint isn't even holding Ethan down anymore. Just sitting on top of him. Ethan brings his knees up and Clint leans back on them. He briefly hopes no one walks by and catches them like this. It would spark rumors and rumors spread like wildfire in the IMF. 

"Yes. I was forced to go after the Jim thing. But I willingly went after Julia. It was nice to just say everything I was feeling out loud." He goes quiet again before asking, "Why? Are you thinking of going?" 

Clint sighs as he gets to his feet. He holds his hand out for Ethan, who takes it and Clint pulls him up. 

"Jane suggested it. Gave me a card."

Ethan nods. "Doesn't hurt to try it out. But you do know what does?" 

Clint hums in question. 

Within a second, Ethan sweeps his feet out from under him and Clint is on his back, groaning. "These mats do nothing!" He complains.

Ethan's laugh echoes through the empty gym. 

Steve rubs his bleary eyes tiredly. His head is throbbing and his eyes ache. He isn't sure how much longer he can look at the screens in front of him. One glance at his watch tells him he's been at this for 6 hours. Rhodey was supposed to come to relieve him over an hour ago, but Jarvis told him Rhodey had called ahead and said he was going to be late. 

The door slides open and Sam walks in, coming over to stand beside Steve's chair. "Hey, how's it going?"

Steve leans back in his chair with a sigh. "Not so good. Did Bucky join you in the gym?" 

Sam's face is grim and that tells Steve everything he needs to know. It's been just over three months since Clint left and the team is falling apart. Steve liked Clint; he was a good fighter, trustworthy, he would have taken a bullet for any one of them, but it still surprised Steve just that Clint was the glue that held them together. 

As soon as Dr. Cho cleared Natasha for duty, she took off. One mission after another. She has hardly set foot in the tower for more than a day in weeks. Steve has a feeling that not even Natasha knows where Clint is by the solemn look on her face whenever she's in the tower. 

Tony is always in his lab, inventing things. Steve swore he saw some blueprints for some new arrowheads the last time he went to check on him. 

Bruce has always been quiet and reserved, but Steve saw on more than one occasion Clint and Bruce striking up a conversation in the communal area. Now, Bruce hardly leaves his lab except for his occasional visits up here to ask if they found anything. 

Thor seems to be spending more and more time away from Earth and his stays to Asgard seem to be longer and longer. Thor and Clint seemed to have an unlikely friendship. Steve has caught them trying to outdo each other in storytelling their best adventures. 

Bucky has been the worst. He had lost some weight since Clint left. Since their talk in the range, they talked more and Bucky seemed to be eating again and gaining his weight and muscle back. But the dark circles under his eyes seem to grow dark as the days go on. He doesn't know what he can do to get Bucky to sleep. 

Steve has spent just as much time staring at these screens as much as any of them, if not more. Steve isn't too good with technology, but he can at least look at screens for any signs of their archer. A grin finds its way to his lips when he thinks of all the times when he would come back from his morning jog to cook breakfast for the team and Clint would sit on the bar in the kitchen, drinking coffee, talking. 

Even Sam and Rhodey seem more solemn. They haven't stopped in their search for Clint. Steve knows that on more than one occasion that Sam and Clint went jogging together and sparred in the gym at the tower, and that Clint and Rhodey weren't close, but they were friendly enough and respected one another. Steve knows they miss Clint too. 

Steve opens his mouth to tell Sam that he needs more coffee when Sam leans forward, planting one hand on the desk and the other on the back of Steve's chair as he leans in close to look at a screen. Steve looks with him, trying to see what he sees. 

"Is that...Clint?" Sam asks, pointing to the screen. 

Steve looks at the screen for a second but doesn't see any sign of Clint. Sam slides the keyboard closer to him and his fingers clack over the keys, running the footage back, pausing the screen, and zooming in on the picture. It's blurry and grainy. The man on the screen is walking in a crowded street, his facial features resembled Clint and his hair seems to be Clint's dirty blonde color. 

"Not sure. It could be." Steve says, hope rising in him like a geyser. "Where is this?"

"Cairo." 

"Then that's where we're going." 

"Oh my God," Benji moans, "it's stifling!"

The AC in the car was broken and with the windows rolled down, all it did was blow hot air into the car and sand, lots of sand. 

"Hey, you wanted out in the field, Benji," Ethan grins as he looks up in the rearview mirror at Benji's reflection in the backseat. 

Clint, who is leaned against the passenger side door, says, "Yeah, think about it, Benji. If you hadn't passed the field exam you could be back at headquarters now, living a completely boring life with no fulfillment."

"Oh shove it, you two!"

Jane laughs at her boys. "We would be lost without you, Benji."

"Damn right! You would have all died horrible deaths without me!" 

Clint leans around his seat and bows three times saying, "Oh great and powerful Benji. Thank you! We are not worthy! We are not worthy!" 

"I'm about to shove this laptop where the sun doesn't shine, William!" Benji threatens. 

Laughs fill the car as Ethan pulls over to the side of the street in front of a rundown building. They get out and quickly go inside, finding that the place is bare, except for an old wooden table that looks like it would collapse under the weight of a blade of grass. There's a metal chair on its side in the far corner and in another corner is a small kitchen, wood stove, and a single rusted pot on top. The floor is covered in sand. The only other room, the bedroom, has two mattresses on the floor, and Clint hates to think about what the stains are from. He guesses that two could squeeze into each bed. The bathroom is dusty; the tub has a ring in it and the showerhead is brown with rust. 

Benji picks up the chair and brings it over to the table. He sits in it and is about to put his computer down on the tabletop, but takes in the condition of the table and decides against it. He sets his laptop in his lap, grumbling about how _shitty safehouses_ are. 

Clint doesn't even think he's been in a _nice_ safehouse. He wonders if it's some unwritten rule that all safehouses are supposed to be horrible. Thankfully, they're just staying the night and flying out in the morning if all goes according to plan. 

Some rich guy stole blueprints for nuclear warheads and is hiding out somewhere in the town, most likely planning on selling them soon. They have an idea where he is and in just a few short hours Clint, Ethan, and Jane are going to steal them back. 

They are waiting for nightfall before they move in on the target, so that leaves them with a few hours to prepare. Clint is a patient man, truly he is, but sometimes the anticipation of waiting on a mission is a lot to handle. He wishes he could be more like his teammates. 

He watches as Jane puts her duffel bag down on the floor and sits on it. She crosses her ankles as she leans back against the stone wall. She has a book in her hand and flips it open and begins reading.

Clint wants that level of calm right now. On missions, he's always too keyed up, too anxious, too fidgety. 

Benji is typing away on his laptop, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration while Ethan leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest. Clint takes the opportunity to go over their target's file again even though he knows it by heart. 

Bucky is roused from his sleep to the sound of pounding. Sleep begs to pull him back under, but the pounding continues, getting louder, and finally Steve's muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Bucky! Open up! Come on!"

Bucky groans and pushes his weary body up from the couch. He hadn't meant to doze off, but his sleep is so fitful since Clint left. Stumbling over to the door, he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

When he lets Steve in, Steve pushes past him so quickly, Bucky stumbles back. "Steve! What the hell-" He stops when he sees the serious look on his best friend's face. Bucky straightens up. "What is it? Did-did you find him?"

Steve tilts his head slightly unsure. He doesn't want to get Bucky's hopes up if this turns out to be a dud and he's trying not to get his hopes up as well. "Maybe. We aren't sure." 

"Show me." 

"On the jet. Suit up." 

Bucky doesn't remember much after that; he doesn't remember putting his tactical vest on or pants or his boots. He doesn't remember stuffing his pockets with knives or ammunition or even grabbing up his rifle. He doesn't remember the elevator ride up to the helipad.

But suddenly he is sitting next to Steve while Tony flies the jet while Sam fills Rhodey in on what he and Steve found. Steve hands Bucky a Stark pad. Bucky looks at the grainy, blurry picture of a man that could or couldn't be Clint. 

"This was taken in Cairo, Egypt." 

Bucky wants to believe that this is it. They're finally going to bring Clint home, but a small voice in his head tells him the opposite. 

The sun was low in the sky by the time they completed the mission. The flash drive that held the blueprints for the nuclear warheads were tucked safely into Jane's bra. Clint, Ethan, and Jane split up when they left the target's house. Jane had told them she was going to get some food from a street vendor before going back to the safe house since the house was devoid of anything edible. 

Clint stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the red and orange sky overhead. He inhales deeply and lets it out slowly. He smiles. There isn't anything better than when a mission goes smoothly. He doesn't care that he has to eat while sitting on the sand-covered floor of the safe house and sleeping on the lumpy, stained mattress, pressed against one of his teammates. 

He stops in his tracks, his smile slipping from his face when he hears a voice. He swallows thickly, his heart already pounding harshly in his chest. 

"-No sign of him yet, Stevie." 

_It can't be._ He thinks. 

They found him. 

He sees Bucky. He's dressed in his gear. His hair is down, it's longer now, touching the top of his shoulders. His beard is thick, thicker than Clint has ever seen it and he looks...tired.

It will be only a matter of seconds before he sees Clint. Then the rest of the team will join them and...then what? They don't want him on the team anymore. Punish him? Maybe throw him in a cell or...There's a hand on his chest, pushing, forcing him to walk backward until his back hits a stone wall of a building. Then a body is pressed into his. Hands cup his cheeks and lips find his. 

It's like Clint's brain shut down when he saw Bucky. And now Ethan is on him, shielding, protecting, his hands tight on Clint's arms. Clint's hand tangles in Ethan's long hair as the other curls around his hip. Their mouths slot together. The kiss is urgent, harsh, and desperate. Ethan runs his tongue over Clint's bottom lip and he opens his mouth and Ethan slips his tongue inside. He's sure that Ethan can feel how hard his heart is pounding, but Clint holds onto him tighter. 

Ethan pulls back slightly suddenly. He rests his forehead against Clint's as they catch their breath. Clint feels Ethan's hot breath against his skin and he shivers. He can't quiet his mind. Did Bucky see him? What would happen if he had? Ethan kissed him. Clint knows it was just so that Bucky wouldn't see him. A cover. Was the entire team here? Would they drag him back to New York kicking and screaming? 

"It's okay," Ethan breathes, "it's okay. I'm here. I'm here, Will." Clint closes his eyes at Ethan's words, trying to calm himself, trying to find comfort in his words and in his touch. 

When Ethan steps back several minutes later, Clint's legs buckle and he slides down the wall. 

"I'm sorry, Will. I-I didn't know how else to keep him from seeing you." Ethan watches him closely, eyes searching every inch of Clint's face. And then his face pinches in worry. 

"Hey, hey," he said, and then he is squatting in front of Clint," I'm going to touch you, is that okay?" Clint doesn't reply, couldn't reply, and then Ethan is holding Clint's hands tightly, "Look at me, hey, breathe okay? Breathe with me." 

What? Clint knows how to breathe! He's about to tell Ethan this when he finds he can't. His throat was too tight and the weight on his chest that's been there for three months was so much heavier. It turned out he was breathing, just too fast, too panicked. He was sure his heart was going to pound out of his chest. 

Ethan squeezed his hands again. "Hey, I'm here. I'm here. We need to get you back to the safe house. Away from danger. You need some water." Ethan instructed, but neither man made any move to let go of each other's hands. 

"They're gone," Ethan said shaking his head. 

"They found me." Clint's throat felt raw and he would like to get some water, but he would rather die than to let go of Ethan's hands. "They found me, Ethan." And his voice cracks. God, his chest hurts, his throat aches and his eyes sting and he's griping Ethan's hands so tight he's afraid he'll break his fingers. 

Clint has been stabbed, shot, thrown into walls, jumped off buildings, beaten to an inch of his life, but nothing has felt like this. 

"No, no they haven't found you. You're with me. Okay?" He waits for Cint to nod before continuing, "We'll go to the safe house and we'll stay there until we're sure they're gone. I'll stay with you, no matter how long it takes. Okay?" 

Clint isn't sure how long they stay in that alley. But it's long enough for Clint's butt to go numb and his legs ache from being held to his chest for so long. The sun set a while ago, encasing them in darkness. Ethan has long since moved to lean against the opposite wall, giving him some space. It's a narrow alley, with only a foot between them. 

"I froze," Clint says, finally breaking the silence. 

"Will-"

"I froze," he laughs in disbelief, "I froze, Ethan!"

Ethan opens his mouth to speak, but Clint keeps going. "I fucking froze! In the field! Liked I was some new, baby-faced agent! I could have endangered you and Jane and Benji! I could have messed up the mission and where would that leave us? With someone having blueprints to nuclear warheads-" Ethan scolds him to keep his voice down, but Clint can't stop. He laughs again, longer, louder. His laughs turn to sobs. He brings his hands up to cover his face, shoulders shaking violently, breaths shuttered, and choked. 

"I need help." He says after he's calmed down several minutes later. "I think I'm going to take Jane's advice and see someone." 

Ethan has crouched down in front of him again, with a hand resting on Clint's arm. "There's nothing wrong with that." 

Clint nods, suddenly tired, the kind of tired you feel deep within your bones. Ethan helps him to his feet and keeps an arm around his waist, supporting his weight as they make it back to the safehouse. Ethan looks around constantly to make sure no Avengers are around. 

When they step into the house, Jane and Benji look up from their food. 

"Hey, about time-" Benji stops when he sees the state his friend is in. 

Jane stands quickly. "What happened?" 

She walks over to them and puts her hand under Clint's chin, lifting his face so she can look at him properly. After moving his head from side to side, her eyes sweep over his body, searching for injuries. She asks again. 

"He just needs some rest," Ethan says. 

He leads Clint to the bedroom where he makes Clint get into one of the beds. Once Clint is laying in bed, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, his socks and boots off, Ethan leaves to get him water. He faintly hears voices in the other room; hushed tones. He knows Ethan wouldn't tell Jane or Benji or anyone anything about Clint's life as an Avenger. He trusts Ethan more than anyone other than Natasha. And it's not that Clint doesn't trust Jane and Benji, but it's just that...he's not ready to share that painful part of himself right now. 

The door opens and he feels the bed dip. A light, feminine touch on his shoulder. The hand rubs across his shoulder blades and it's comforting, so comforting that Clint leans back into the touch. The hand disappears, but he feels the bed shift more, and then a body pressed against his back; knees sliding against the backs of his and arms wrapping around his ribs, a face tucked into the back of his neck. His hand comes to rest over hers, on his sternum. He squeezes it. 

"Thank you," he whispers, voice thick and his eyes suddenly sting. 

"You're welcome," Jane whispers back, her lips tickling his neck. 

A moment later the door opens and Ethan comes in with a bottle of water. He sets it on the floor by Clint's side of the bed before crawling into the other bed. Benji comes in soon after and takes up the available space beside Ethan. It's quiet and Clint suddenly feels aching exhaustion deep within his bones. Wrapped up in his friend's arm and his two other friends asleep next to him, he lets sleep pull him under. 

Clint stirs awake early the next morning. Ethan and Benji are no longer in their bed and Jane's body is not pressed against his. He's alone, but he hears a voice in the next room. He holds his breath, straining to hear. 

"You two take the car and leave." It's Ethan. 

"Without you and Will?" Jane says and Clint can tell from the tone in her voice she isn't happy.

"Yes. Will and I are staying here for a few days."

"Is this because of whatever happened yesterday?" Benji asks.

It's quiet for a moment and then, "Go home," Ethan tells, his voice stern. 

"No!" Jane shouts, "We're not just leaving you and Will here unprotected!" 

"Will and I are capable of taking care of ourselves."

Jane snorts. "Right. You need us."

"Jane-!"

"We're not leaving," she says more calmly, but something in her voice is final. 

Even from in here Will can hear Ethan's heavy sigh. He lets out his breath just as the door opens, Ethan walks into the room and closes the door behind him. 

He sits down on Clint's mattress, swinging his feet up and leaning against the wall. "I'm guessing you heard that." 

Clint rolls onto his back. 

"Yeah," he sighs, looking up at the rocky ceiling. 

"We'll wait a couple of days, make sure the coast is clear, and then head home. It'll be okay. They won't find you."

Despite his growing sense of dread and the anxiety blooming in his chest, Clint smiles. How many nights has Ethan shown up to his place with food to make sure Clint ate? How many times has Ethan barged into his office at IMF headquarters and practically all but dragged him home so he wouldn't overwork himself to exhaustion? His first night back he listened to Clint's story about what happened with the Avengers over drinks. Ethan has listened to him and took care of him for months, hell even years, since he first met Ethan. It makes him feel more guilty for not keeping in contact with him and Jane and Benji like he should have over the past year. That's going to change now. He's here for good. This is where he belongs, this is his family. 

Benji was right, it is stifling here, Jane thinks as she walks down a dusty street, her arms laden with two, heaping brown paper grocery bags. 

"Excuse me, ma'am!" A deep voice says from somewhere behind her. She stops and turns to see...Captain America? He's in civilian clothes, but Jane would recognize this patriotic, boy-next-door anywhere. 

He gestures for one of her grocery bags, "Here, let me help." He waits for her to nod before taking the bag from her. "I was wondering if you could take a look at this picture and see if you recognize someone?" With his free hand, he holds out a Stark pad. 

Using her index finger, she pulls down her sunglasses to look at the screen. On it, is a picture of Will. She looks at it just long enough to not look suspicious. 

"No, sorry. What's he done?" She inquires, adjusting the grocery bag in her arms. 

"Nothing," he says glancing down at the picture, looking sad. "Just-he's a friend of mine and I need to find him."

"Well, good luck."

"Would you like me to help you home?" 

"Oh no, thank you. I'm fine." He hands her other bag to her.

"Have a good day, ma'am." Steve gives a friendly grin and she pastes on an overly sweet one. "I hope you find your friend." 

"Thank you." 

As soon as his back turns, her façade falls. And she hurries back down the street, though she goes down several alleyways and takes twists and turns before going back to the safehouse, not wanting to take any chances of him following her. 

If the Avengers were involved in whatever happened to Will...and the way he stumbled into the safehouse the night before, with Ethan to lean on for support...Ethan has to know what happened. Nobody she knows are closer than Will and Ethan. 

How many of the Avengers are here flashing around Will's picture? Will can't step foot outside of the safehouse. She won't let him. 

When she enters the safehouse, Benji is typing away on his laptop, sweat running down his temples, sweat stains under his arms, chest, and back. She grins at the sight. Benji hates the heat, anything over 75 degrees, and Benji is complaining about how scalding it is, but he's still willing to stay in Egypt of all places for Will. 

She sets the bag down in the kitchen. The bathroom door is closed and she can hear water running from inside. Will comes out of the bedroom, her book in his hand, finger wedged between the pages to keep his place. She eyes it with raised brows. He glances down at the book. 

"Sorry," he says with a wince, "I got bored." 

"That's okay. Do you like it?" She begins unpacking the bags. 

"It's interesting. I've seen the movie." He shrugs. 

"Yes, but the book is so much better. You can have it, I've read it before." 

"Oh, well, thank you," Will says, taken aback as he sets the book down on the rickety table. Benji, who is seated next to it, glances at it. He shivers. "I hate horror." 

Jane and Will smile at him. 

" _The Shining_ is a classic, Benji," Jane tells him, but she gets no reaction from him. He's already engrossed in his laptop once again. 

"Will," she says, handing him a couple of tomatoes for him to put away. 

"Yes?" When she doesn't speak right away, he sets the tomatoes down and leans back against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest. "What's up?"

She steps close to him, so close she can feel his breath ghost over her face. When she speaks her voice is soft, it's barely a whisper. 

"I was stopped out on the street...by Captain American." She sees how he tries so hard to keep calm, but his eyes widen a fraction, his arms tighten around him. "He showed me a picture of you."

"What did you say?" 

"That I didn't recognize you. But, Will, what did you do to make the Avengers come looking for you?" She doesn't sound accusing, not at all, just worried. 

"It's a long story, Jane. One that..." he trails, breaking eye contact with her for a long moment, before looking at her again. "One that I need to tell you and Benji."

"It's why you've been so...it's the reason you've been struggling," she rests a hand on his arm. 

He swallows, "Yeah." 

"You don't have to tell us until you're ready." 

He unfolds his arms and his hands come to wrap around her forearms. "Jane," he says and his eyes are so full of...love? Adoration? Trust? That it makes Jane's eyes mist over. "You, Ethan, and Benji are my family. I trust you with my life." After another pause, "You deserve to know."

She nods and steps forward, her arms sliding around his waist. He hugs her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. "Just tell us when you're ready, we'll always listen," she mumbles into his chest. 

Three days later and still no sign of Clint. Bucky's hope had long diminished after the first day. 

"Look," Rhodey says, grabbing everyone's attention. He stood in the middle of the Quinjet with his hands on his hips. "I want to find Barton, I do. But all of this searching and running through ourselves," he shakes his head, "we can't keep it up. We have other things to focus on and it's not-it's not fair to him."

"Rhodey-!" Steve says, but Sam speaks up. 

"He's right, Steve." Bucky can tell by the look in his eyes that Sam doesn't want to give up, he wants to find Clint, and he doesn't want to disappoint Steve. "Even if Clint had been here, he got wind that we were here long ago and took off. And it isn't fair to keep everything on high alert for him if he doesn't want to be found." 

"Clint is a member of this team! He's part of our family! We can't give up-"

"They're right, Steve. Clint doesn't want to be found."

Steve whips his head around to look at his best friend in disbelief. "Bucky..."

"Even with all of the resources we have, we should have found him by now. He knows how to hide, to blend in, to disappear." 

Steve wants to argue. They don't give up. They're the Avengers! When they get hit, they hit back harder. They fight with everything they have and now three members of his team want to...give up?

"Look, I don't want to give up on him. But," Bucky places a hand on his shoulder and takes a deep breath, "I know Clint, better than anyone, besides Natasha. And I know we won't find him because he doesn't want us to." 

After a few moments of silence, Bucky adds, "The airports being on the lookout for him, it isn't fair to him. And the screen monitoring...needs to stop. Besides," he grins ruefully, "it's ruining all of our eyes."

It's quiet for a moment before Bucky adds, "It's the right thing to do." 

Steve looks so defeated, they all do. 

"Sometimes," he says quietly and Bucky can hear all the emotions in his voice, "doing the right thing isn't what you want." 

"I know," Bucky whispers, "God, I know, Stevie."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is different than the others so far. Let me know what you think! Thank you my lovely beta, merelypassingtime

Clint lets out a discordant exhale as he drums his fingers over his thighs, resisting the urge to bolt. He looks around the office he's in to have something to focus on. Mahogany bookshelves make up two walls on either side of the room, filled with leather-bound books with oddities mixed in. He looks at the antique-looking globe wedged between a large, thick red book, and a navy blue one, a skull set on a stack of vertical books, and an old typewriter with a few of the keys missing. Pictures of the same two cats littered the walls with a few framed college degrees. 

"Agent Brandt-" A modulated voice grabs his attention, almost startling him. He looks at the older woman sitting across from him. Her legs are crossed, with a notepad in her lap, pen in hand. Her gray hair in a pixie do, glasses slid to the tip of her nose as she watches him. Clint takes in her black slacks, matching jacket and shirt, and yellow high heels. He can't help but think of how beautiful it looks against her dark skin. It's hard to believe someone as sweet looking as Dr. Monroe was ever a field agent, but Clint supposes she knew how to kill him 10 different ways with just her pinky finger. 

"We can talk about whatever you like." She offers him an encouraging smile, "Since this is our first session together, why don't we start off small. Tell me about your day so far." 

"It was fine," is all he says. He doesn't understand how people can do this. How can you talk to a stranger about your problems, about your personal life?

"What did you do? Did you talk to anyone? Have something special for breakfast? Come on, don't be shy."

"I had a cup of coffee and some toast with peanut butter. And I read some." Clint finishes with a halfhearted shrug. 

"What did you read?" 

"Doctor Sleep."

"Is it good? What's it about? Are you liking it so far?"

"Yeah, it's good. Uh, it's the sequel to the Shining. It's about the kid as an adult. Um, my friend Jane gave it to me. She-well, we were on a mission last week, and uh, I just started reading her book when she was out getting supplies. That book was The Shining. Jane saw me with it when she got back and she gave it to me since she already read it."

"That's nice. Reading is good and it's fun when you can talk about books with someone. Did you like the Shining?" 

Clint nods, "Finished it a couple of days ago, and...we met up for coffee and talked about it. And that's when she gave me Doctor Sleep. I'm almost done with it and Jane said we had to meet up and talk about it when I was finished because it's her favorite book. She said I have to read The Green Mile next. That's another one of her favorites."

"She's a Stephen King fan, I see," Dr. Monroe says amused. "Maybe you and Jane can form a sort of book club. Read books and then talk about them."

Clint shrugs again. "Maybe. I've never been much of a reader, but I've been enjoying it lately."

"Talk to Jane about it." 

"I will."

Silence falls upon them again. Clint turns his attention to Dr. Monroe's mahogany desk. A laptop is in the center of it, a couple more picture frames that Clint can't see the contents of, but he assumes there are more pictures of her cats. A mug filled with pens that said, "Grammar: the difference between knowing your crap and knowing you're crap", a small desk lamp sat on the corner, and a tiny Shark figurine sat beside it. 

"Why don't you tell me about your team? Jane is part of your team, isn't she?" She rests her elbow on the arm of her chair, leaning her temple against her pointer finger as she waits for Clint to answer her. 

Clint looks to her again and she looks so...nice, encouraging, inviting. Clint hates to admit it, but he suddenly 'wants' to tell her things. And talking about his friends seems safe enough. 

"Uh, yeah, she is. Jane is...great. She's the kind of person who would kill for you, but also, scare the crap out of you." 

Dr. Monroe laughs at that. "Those are good qualities to have, especially for a field agent." 

Clint finds himself grinning. "She's been there for me through...a lot. And she was the one who suggested I come here." 

She nods and scribbles something down on her notepad. It's not the first time Clint wishes to know what it is that she's writing. An evil part of him says she's writing that he's lost a cause or that he was so mentally unstable he was unfit for duty. 

She finishes writing and looks up with a grin. "Go on, tell me more." 

"There's Benji, he's...a dork."

"A dork?" She says and she covers her mouth with her hand to keep any laughter from escaping her lips. 

"Yeah, like he's there for you and he cares so much. He'd take the shirt off his back for you, but he's dorky. I love the guy."

"Benji sounds lovely." 

"He is."

Clint hesitates for a moment before continuing. "And then there's Ethan," Clint's wide, amused grin turns to a soft, admiration one. "Ethan..." Where does he start with Ethan? "Ethan is... He's known everything I've been through since the beginning. He's been there for me. He's taken care of me. I wouldn't have gotten through these past few months without him. I love him. I love them all."

"They all sound wonderful. Do you ever hang out all together outside of missions?"

Clint tells her about the Lord of the Rings marathon, and the Star Trek marathon, the Mummy marathon, and how they're planning a Star Wars one. He tells her about how they all go out to dinner sometimes or out for drinks after a hard mission. He tells her so much and this is something he's never really done before. 

He's been to therapy. 

After the whole Loki incident, he was forced to. But he answered the Shield issued therapist's questions with what he knew they wanted to hear. The therapist had been cold, uncaring, and short with Clint. He hadn't cared about helping him and cleared him for duty after just two sessions, which is what Clint wanted, but deep down he had also wanted someone to see through his façade and give him the help he needed. 

He steers clear of anything about his old life. It is too soon to even think about talking to Dr. Monroe about that. He sticks to what is safe; his friends. 

When he finishes, she's smiling encouragingly at him. "Looks like you have not only an amazing team but also three amazing friends."

 _Four_ , his mind supplies instantly and a flash of red goes through his mind. _Nat,_ he thinks dolefully. 

"Yeah," he says quietly, "I do." 

It was cold, gray, and rainy out, so Clint had to grab them a table inside Minerva's Café. He relished in the warmth the mug of coffee gave his hands. It sent a shiver throughout his body and he gently blew on his coffee, so the hot steam would warm his frozen nose. 

As much as he's looking forward to his and Jane's book/coffee date, he can't wait to go home and crawl under the covers to sleep. He's tired. A kind of tired that he feels deep in his bones. Since his almost run-in with Bucky in Cairo, telling Jane and Benji about his life as an Avenger and why he left them, and the therapy session he had a couple of days before, he's been nothing but tired. 

He remembers standing in his kitchen last Friday night, leaning against the counter, glass of red wine in his hand. He watched Ethan cook, stirring contents in multiple pots on the stove. Jane was making a big salad as Benji got the living room set up for their latest marathon. It had been Ethan's turn to pick and he suggested The Mummy trilogy. 

It smelled amazing, cooked pasta, and spices and herbs filtered through the room, the taste of the wine, dry, and full-bodied. Jane hummed, what Clint thinks was an Elton John song, as she tossed the salad in a large bowl, Benji mumbled under his breath as he set up the movie on the T.V., Ethan's voice as he asked Clint to hand him a certain seasoning or utensil. It all made Clint feel at ease, cared for, happy. 

Ethan held a wooden spoon out to him, one hand lay a couple of inches underneath to catch any stray drips. Clint looked at the creamy white sauce on the spoon before leaning over and tasting it. 

"Good?" Ethan had asked, searching his face for any signs of revulsion. 

Clint nodded. "Delicious." It caused Ethan to smile widely before he continued to stir the sauce. 

It hadn't been too much later when everyone had their salads, pasta, and garlic bread, and wine and were settling down in the living room to watch the first movie. 

Clint had debated with himself that whole evening whether he was ready to tell Jane and Benji. Cairo had happened just four days before. 

He told them between the second and third movies. As he told them, he looked down at his lap. Halfway through Ethan had taken his wine glass from him because he had gripped it so hard he was afraid it was in danger of breaking. He stood up as he finished, for whatever reason he did not know. Maybe to run, to hide. Both options had sounded pretty good to Clint. 

He waited for Jane to start yelling, to look up and see Benji's disappointed face, he waited to lose his found family a second time. He watched as Jane stood up and walked up to him. He braced himself for the hit, so sure Jane was going to slap or punch him. Instead, she slid her arms around his middle and hugged him, tightly. 

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she mumbled into his neck. Her voice sounded thick like she was about to cry, cry for him. Shocked by her actions and words, he slid his arms around her and held her just as tight as she held him. 

Benji got up as well and put a comforting hand on Clint's back. "I'm sorry too. That's rough, mate. But forget about them! You're with us now and we would never do that to you." 

And Benji wrapped his arms around the both of them, hugging them as close as he could, making them let out watery laughs. Clint met Ethan's eyes from across the room, their leader having stepped away to give the rest of them space. Ethan gave him a soft, proud, and loving smile. 

The bell above the door across the café jingles, signaling someone entered. He sees Jane drop her dripping umbrella in with the rest in the bucket by the door. She walks over to him, slipping her coat off and setting it over the back of her chair. As soon as she's seated she picks up her mug and sighs happily. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the cold wind outside. 

Clint grins over the top of his mug. "Right?"

She returns the grin before taking a sip. 

He slides a book over to her and her grin widens. 

"What'd you think?" She asks excitedly. 

"It was so good."

She rolls her eyes up towards the ceiling, sighing, as she agreed, "Uh, so good!" 

"I mean, the first 60 pages I thought, _This is depressing_. The guy went through so much as a kid and it just never stopped. His life was pretty shitty."

"Right?! Oh, but I love Danny though! What did you think of the ending?"

Clint throws his head back, groaning. "Oh my God. It was amazing!" 

They talk in more detail about the book; their favorite parts and characters, and the ending. 

"I have to ask," Jane says, "did you cry?" Before Clint can reply, she points a finger at him, eyes squinting, "And you better not lie to me, Brandt!"

"Never. And I did." 

"Me too," She admits, a little reluctantly.

She leans over, digging in her purse. "Here's your next read." She places a thick book down on the table and slides it over to him. 

"The Green Mile," He reads the cover aloud as he picks it up, flipping through a few pages and then closing it. He didn't know it was a book, just that there's a movie that he hasn't even seen.

"This one," Jane taps the books in his hands lightly, "will make you bawl like a baby." 

"Great," Cint says dryly.

"It's worth the read. Trust me, it's one of the best books ever written." Clint knows he will love it. Jane hasn't let him down yet. 

After they discuss Doctor Sleep some more, Jane stands to get them another coffee and muffins. Once she's settled back down at their table in the corner, Clint looks up at Jane who is happily tearing pieces off her muffin and eating them. 

He turns his attention back to his mug in his hands. He watches the steam dance into the air before disappearing. Keeping his focus on his coffee he says, "So, I went to Dr. Monroe."

It's quiet for a moment and Clint chances a glance at his friend. She had stopped eating her muffin, a piece halfway to her mouth. She's looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"And?" She finally asks, "How did it go?"

He tears bits of his muffin, focusing on that, hoping it would help calm him some. "Uh, good. I'm...seeing her again...next week." 

She rests her hand over his, making him look up at her. "I'm glad." 

"I didn't talk to her about...everything. Just you guys."

"Good things, I hope." she says, her voice light and teasing.

"The best." He gives her a small grin which she returns before she starts talking about Doctor Sleep again. 

When he gets home from his coffee date with Jane, he hangs his coat up on the hook by the door and toes his shoes off. He plops down heavily on the couch. He listens to the rainfall grow heavier outside and it's comforting. But this weather always makes him sleepy, makes him want to crawl into bed under the covers and not leave all day. 

It's been a few days since his session with Monroe and since then all he has thought about is Natasha. The last time he talked to her was three months ago during the robot battle in New York. He's been a coward, not contacting her. Dipping his hand into the pocket of his jeans, he pulls his phone out. He had left his old cellphone back at the tower, afraid that Tony would track it. But he knows Natasha's number by heart. 

His thumb hovers over the dial pad. What if she doesn't pick up? What would he say if she does? 

He runs a hand roughly down his face. He hates that he feels this way. _It's Nat, for God's sake! Barton, get it together!_ He thinks. He's never been this way about her. They have always been Nat and Clint, Clint and Nat. The two assassins have been close as close can be since he was sent to kill Black Widow, but made a different call instead. Sure, it had taken some time for her to warm up to him and trust him, but they've been best friends for years. 

It's been too long since he's seen her, heard her voice. Clint can't remember the last time they went so long without seeing each other. Probably never. 

He dials her number quickly and holds the phone up to his ear. His heart races painfully as he listens to it ring. 

"Здравствуйте?" 

He almost sucks in a breath at hearing her voice. He pictures her; maybe she's on her floor at the tower or a hotel somewhere, but he pictures her sitting on a bed. He imagines her short, bright red hair, her steely expression, pursed full lips as she waits to see who was calling her. 

"It's me," he says, voice thick. He clears his throat. "Hey, Nat."

It's quiet for a moment and it's the longest moment of Clint's life. 

"Clint," she says, exhaling. "Are you okay?"

"Getting there. What about you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, you idiot." Only Natasha could insult him and make it sound loving. A warmth spread through him, starting in his chest and working its way outward to the rest of his body. 

"God," his voice is thick again, "I miss you so much, Nat."

"I miss you too," she whispers and he knows it's because she's close to tears. Clint is probably the only person to have seen the notoriously dangerous Black Widow in such a state.

"Look, I-I don't know when..." he sighs, "I think-no, I know that where I am now, I'm here, for good. I just..."

"You do what's best for you. And I'll try to see you soon if that's alright." 

"Yes, God, yes. I want to see you so bad, Nat." 

"I want to see you too," she's whispering again. It's her turn to clear her throat. "Wherever you are, are they treating you good?"

He smiles even though she can't see him, "They are." 

They talk for hours. Natasha doesn't mention the Avengers or what happened and Clint couldn't be more grateful. They laugh and reminisce and tease one another. Clint tries not to let the guilt of not contacting her sooner seep into his bones. 

They end the call with: "I love you, Clint." 

"I love you too, Tasha. Come see me soon?"

"Just tell me when and where and I'll be there," she says vehemently. 

Hot, stinging tears prick his eyes. And he's hit with the fact that Natasha would do anything for him, that she truly loves him. He knew that already, but it sneaks up on him sometimes, especially when they have times like this. It's so overwhelmingly good to have someone who cares about you in such a way. 

"Thanks, Nat. I will." He says quietly and they hang up. Clint is plunged into the dark silence of his apartment, but another weight has been lifted off his shoulders. The weight has been getting lighter and lighter lately. It feels good and Clint never wants it to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> ~Let me know what y'all thought! Natasha is supposed to have said in Russian, "You idiots!" But I do not speak Russian, so if that is wrong, someone please let me know!~


End file.
